Tuesday, January 26, 2010

The clouds, as hot and cold as our contorted hearts,swell with impatience.Eager to vomit churning windsthat will split us like brittle trees.

And the sky, scabbed with sullen clouds,irate and drunk, squatsto empty her bladder on the sidewalkand on the heads of houses.

This storm, long brewed,fermented silently.Now ripe, she jealously consumes all light, holding the celestials hostage.She smothers twinkling dreamsand chokes hopes that would normally gleam like white gold on the onyx sky.

And in turn, the stars feign death.Fretting not, for even powerful downpourcannot dampen dreamsforever. And behindthe fuming cloudsthe stars still shine, Defiantly…

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Welcome..

...the word play is work but pimpin is EZso catch me i'm ballini'm sick tooif you aint catch me like coughin back when I said you should catch me like rawlings? it's cool cuz most cats i bump into can't catch me that often... ~ Lupe